The longing that remains when all is here

In the wake of an approaching heatwave, we find ourselves in the quiet centre of high summer. The period following the solstice can feel paradoxical. With the sun high overhead and light at its most abundant, you might expect to feel at the peak of life, filled with joy and energy. But a sense of lethargy may overcome us, which can easily tip into a more melancholic mood. We may feel lost without any clear cause. Life then asks us to slow down and become still, so that our ripening may unfold in rest.

Nature, too, begins to settle after a season of vigorous growth. Attention now turns to the ripening of its fruit, and with it, the forming of good seed in which the essence of new life is held. Slowly, we begin to build a legacy for the generation to come. With the subtle awareness of our own finitude, death gently rolls back into our lives. This can stir up resistance, for we are never quite ready to let death play its part. Still, we are invited to seek out her cool shadow, because in facing our finitude, we reflect more deeply on what it means to bear good fruit. Our ripening takes place in stillness.

If you feel like celebrating life as if it had no end, that is yours to do. Stillness can stand beside joy. But when we ignore her altogether, or even push her away, a hollow emptiness may begin to form within. A life turned entirely outward loses its shine, and we grow disillusioned, searching for fulfilment where it cannot be found.

Falling back into what you know

I once thought that, after years of writing about the undercurrents, I could guard myself against recurring pitfalls. Yet time and again, I tumble in, wholeheartedly. Perhaps I now recognise more quickly what is happening, but I have come to understand that we are all subject to life’s deeper patterns, no matter how superior we may feel. In the end, we are all placed in our rightful position, and I have found freedom in inhabiting that place with reverence and an open heart. So I drift with the tides of life. Life keeps happening to me again and again, and I have grown gentler with myself when I come to a dead end, or wash ashore in some desolate place.

I invite you to seek refuge in the shade of stillness, for little else can truly be accomplished now. Allow yourself to pause and acknowledge what you have brought into being in recent months, however incomplete it may feel, and give yourself the space to let your fruit ripen. That space does not come of its own accord, for the pull of distraction is immense. Chaos reigns, and calls you to be the centre of the storm. Turn toward a source of living water, and let your thirst be quenched there.